Sarophia
by Jelik
Summary: This is my first book, was originally set in the Forgotten Realms but changed it to an original world. I have maps and character descriptions pictures on www.sarophia.com. Please let me know what you think!
1. Default Chapter

**SAROPHIA: BOOK ONE OF THE XYCERMON SERIES **

**PROLOGUE**

Under the evening stars she studied the encampment.

Neither _Lithloren_ or _Tolorel_ had risen so the evening was darker and lonelier than usual; the violet and pale white glows were absent through the branches of surrounding Elms. She needed to sleep, but the air was so bracing it kept her awake.

The dying embers of the campsite fire sizzled angrily as one of the five men below tipped water over it. She had been following them for two days now. She scrutinized each of them once more, committing them to memory.

Two were so big they could pass for warriors. As for the other three she had nothing to go on. One warrior with dark skin and short black hair rose and moved to the edge of the clearing. She'd overheard them calling him Kielmark. His clothing and black skin identified him as a horseman from the village of Arrolok. He turned back to face the group. "Sudenora and I are going to find some food."

Sudenora had shoulder length brown hair, was unshaven, and wore a simple green woollen tunic and grey hose.

The others said nothing.

The watcher's attention turned back to the remaining warrior. Over the past two days she'd heard him called Anthron. He was a giant of a man - his broad shoulders and muscular arms made him look formidable; yet he had an amiable face and blonde hair. Anthron's hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

Jelik sat nearest the smouldering embers of the fire, dressed in ragged black leathers.

The last person in the group joined Jelik. He was the least imposing sight in the group, overweight, with mousy coloured hair and a goatee. His name was Karlos. He was the least respected, often being asked to do the more menial tasks around the camp.

The watcher slid quietly down the tree and slunk off into the distance. She would visit these men again tomorrow - right now she would get some sleep.

The sun rose over the treetops of the forest, banishing the darkness and waking Karlos. He could tell that it was going to be another crisp spring day. The others were awake already, discussing which way to go.

"If we continue north we should end up in Izonda by next week." Anthron calculated.

"But as soon as we arrive in Izonda we'll get arrested for escaping Selection," Jelik stated calmly. "I suggest we head towards Sorne and sail our way out of trouble."

"Izonda is a big place, Jelik - we'll be fine. All of us have family back in Izonda, except you…"

"More likely you want to go back to your woman, who only cost three coppers an hour I hear," Jelik retorted maliciously, arms folded.

Chaos erupted as Anthron swung his huge fist. Jelik rolled backwards and came to his feet, then dived to his left as Kielmark and Karlos restrained Anthron. The blonde warrior struggled briefly, then his shoulders slumped in resignation.

"Look," Sudenora cleared his throat. "We've got company."

Anthron shook off Kielmark and Karlos as he looked around quickly. He relaxed as he saw a ravishing female warrior standing twenty paces away. Although her features were Elvish, Anthron noted that she was the height of an average human woman. Her long blonde hair was plaited back into a ponytail which revealed the delicacy of her face. He estimated her to be about twenty-five years old, wearing snug soft leather armour and a green cloak.

"My name is Anthea Fleké," she began. "I am here to offer you all an invitation."

"An invitation?" Jelik replied curiously.

"To a village just to the north. It is a haven for people in your situation."

"Just what sort of 'situation' do you think we're in?" Jelik asked.

"You escaped Selection," Anthea stated. "You are now considered outlaws throughout Sarophia. I've been tracking you for the last two days just to make sure you weren't being followed. The locals don't want uninvited guests."

"We aren't following you, lady. We can handle this ourselves." Kielmark replied defiantly.

"You'd die within a week if you continued alone," Anthea replied calmly. "If you did actually make it back to Izonda, you'd be executed or re-captured as soon as anyone found out where you've been. Trust me, there _are_ people on the look out for you."

"So we just live the rest of our lives out hiding in this forest?" Sudenora fumed.

Anthea shook her head. "No. Within the village we can provide you with training and equipment. You can leave anytime you like, but with a better chance of survival."

"Well?" Anthron asked to the group, "What do you think?"

Kielmark turned and began to collect his things from the camp.

"Sounds like a good plan." Jelik nodded to Anthron.

Anthron turned to Karlos. "And you?"

Karlos was frowning, "I think she's right, Anthron. I think our old way of life is over. Trying to go back would be the death of us."

Sudenora looked pained and almost made as if to say something, but thought better of it.

"Okay then," Jelik motioned to the woman as he gathered his things. "Lead the way."

As Anthron followed Anthea and the group through the forest, he thought about how comfortable his life had been until so recently. His father was a blacksmith, his mother a dressmaker. They'd all heard rumours in Vemmlok that people were disappearing from every town, city, and village in their vicinity. Anthron thought that this was just a coincidence - until someone he knew escaped. Lothor was an incredibly intelligent young man who had just celebrated his twentieth birthday – and he'd gone missing ten days before. He'd claimed that every month something called the Selection happened. Healthy young people with strong physical or mental abilities were taken – he didn't know where.

Within three hours of his re-appearance, Lothor was escorted away by black armoured knights accompanied by a man in a long black cloak. Nobody tried to help him.

Anthron and Harson – one of his friends from Vemmlok - were drugged and taken from their beds. They woke to find themselves in an enormous wheeled cage, which was being pulled by horses. About fourteen of these cages were linked together. That was how he met Sudenora, Kielmark, Karlos, and Jelik. They shared the same cage. Jelik managed to pick the lock of their cage one night using a bent fork he'd hidden, and they escaped.

Unfortunately during their escape Anthron's friend Harson was killed. He'd stumbled as they ran away, and was run through by a guard on horseback. So, using the stolen weapons from the guards they intended to return to their homes. That was - until this encounter with Anthea. Now they were on their way to some village out in the middle of the Ithren Forest, blindly trusting someone they'd just met.

What was worse - they could never go back to their old lives.

"Terrific." Anthron thought to himself as he continued along the trail.

**CHAPTER ONE**

Anthron stirred from his thoughts.

The sun was just starting to peek above the treetops of another cloudless day near the end of summer. Anthron sat on his favourite grassy spot atop a small rise near the edge of the village. He had come to love this place.

The village itself was self contained, nestled safely under the tall trees of the Ithren Forest. It was made up of a series of thatched huts, which reminded Anthron of the farm hovels outside Vemmlok. They were sparse but comfortable and dry, but he'd often thought he wouldn't wish to spend a winter living in one. These huts housed the residents of this village, which Anthron thought numbered about sixty. There were also five larger buildings of better design. These were used for training purposes; what would pass as a Fighter's Guild and gym, a Temple of _Termolen_, the Library – where an Elementalist could also practice their skills, a place which was referred to as 'The Maze' – where stealth and sleight of hand were taught, and the town hall. Well, Anthron thought, not really a town hall – more of a place which the town leader Karter used as his base, and where he called meetings.

Anthron loved the people here as well. They weren't the bunch of rogues he'd expected. He cast his mind back to when he and his friends first arrived with Anthea. He and Kielmark had enrolled with the Fighter's Guild.

Sudenora picked up the theories of the Elementalists quickly, as his father had been a _Tolorel_ illusionist. Instead of following his father's footsteps however, Sudenora chose to study the God of Air – _Servas_.

Karlos immediately began learning about _Termolen_, the God of Earth Healing. Karlos learnt how to enhance natural healing within a body and focus it in a positive way via channelling and prayer. Karlos was much more confident now. He had a look in his eyes as if he knew some great secret.

Jelik became a student of Furnar, the tutor of thieves. Furnar had shown Jelik all sorts of ways to conceal oneself, sleight of hand, how locks work, and many other things.

Anthron stood up and stretched to his full height, hearing a few bones creaking. He walked down from the grassy rise, eagerly anticipating being on the road, especially with Anthea.

Anthron halted at the Fighter's Guild, knocking politely on the hardwood door as he entered. The Fighter's Guild was the second largest hall in the village. The walls inside were decorated with several items of ancient armour and weapons, which, it was said, were used in The Great War nearly two and a half thousand years ago. Anthron didn't know much about the war – he didn't care for history.

The guild floor was polished wood that Anthron walked across noisily, leading into sand at the far end. Bowing as he reached the sparring area, Anthron sought out his teacher.

"You're as loud as an ox," the deep voice of Lepus boomed.

Anthron jumped. This man could still unnerve him. Each time Anthron began to think that he was getting the better of Lepus while they were sparring, suddenly he would realise that his instructor was just toying with him. Anthron was glad that they'd started out fencing with padded sticks!

Lepus came out from the back room. He was a short thin man, with black hair. As usual, he wore his rusty chainmail vest and shortsword.

"You're off today?" Lepus bellowed, hands on hips. Anthron still couldn't understand how such a little man could make so much noise.

Anthron nodded, "I've just come to say farewell."

"Well, bye then." Lepus then turned on his heels and disappeared back the way he came.

Lepus wasn't one for social etiquette.

Anthron left, bowed again, and made for Adjur's hut. Adjur was the sage of the village. Their group was to meet outside his hut before they left for the Sambethe Forest. A man named Wilse had escaped from the Selection, finding sanctuary in the place to which they headed. He claimed to have found out the process and reasons for the Selection. They were to make for Sambethe, question Wilse, and prepare for the Ithren village to join them.

Everyone but Sudenora was ready. He was reluctantly collecting their supplies.

Anthea sighed in boredom as she waited restlessly for Sudenora with the others. She'd been invited to go along with the group as a guide, and she'd accepted. It had been a while since she'd journeyed east, and her stomach was knotted with anxiety. Anthea turned her attention to Jelik. He was caught up in his thoughts, unconsciously toying with one of his daggers. She and Jelik had become quite close over the last six months and she wondered how they'd get along on the road.

Shrugging, she watched the others.

Kielmark sat in the grass dressed in a mis-matched set of leather, chain and plate armour. He polished his traditional Arrolokian sabre with a cloth.

Karlos sat cross-legged lost in thought, a morning star cradling across his lap.

At last Sudenora arrived with the town leader, Karter. Sudenora wore blue robes, brown leather leggings and boots and carried their rations under his arm.

"At last," Kielmark breathed impatiently, sheathing his sabre and standing.

Anthron hefted his backpack on to his shoulders.

The tall burly Karter shook all their hands bidding them goodbye. "'Member to keep yaselves whole now, and we'll see y'all in a few weeks in Sambethe to find out what ya have. You'll have to see if these dungeons an' orcs are related to the Selection too," Karter said as he absent-mindedly brushed a stray curl of his bushy brown hair out of his face. "Good luck."

The party set off via the makeshift stables to collect their horses, and led them off into the forest.

The morning was quiet and passed uneventfully, the tall trees protecting them from the morning sun. Anthron noticed once again how beautiful this forest was. He listened to the birds, their mingled songs relaxed him, as he watched the animals scuttle out of their way. He also wondered if there were any elves hidden in the forest watching as they made their way.

Little was said throughout the morning; everyone seeming to be pre-occupied.

About noon they decided to rest in a small clearing. They quietly ate a small meal as their horses grazed, then continued on, Anthea leading the way.

It was late afternoon when Anthron was roused from his thoughts as they came to an old country road which headed north west and south east. The road was about twenty feet across, bearing no wagon wheel marks or hoof prints although the dirt was very fine.

Anthea mounted her white mare as she looked south east. "If we follow the road it'll take us east through Lotheric. If we keep to it we shouldn't run into any trouble."

"Trouble?" Kielmark inquired from his saddle. "What kind of trouble?"

Anthea paused. "I don't expect there to be any."

Karlos wiped the perspiration from his forehead and beard as he hoisted himself into his saddle. "Still – it's better to be safe."

"Yes." Anthea agreed.

Anthron led the way as the rest of the party fell in behind him. That night they camped close to the road, not setting up their tents owing to the warm and clear weather. Jelik and Karlos collected firewood, Anthron dug a small pit, while Anthea and Sudenora prepared a dinner of bacon and fried potatoes. Kielmark cleaned up afterwards.

"That meal was just like home." Anthron acknowledged, licking his fingers.

Sudenora sighed. "Pity it wasn't though."

Jelik and Anthea retired early, further from the fire than the others.

They soon all retired, with the exception of Anthron, who was on the first watch.

The next day dawned cloudless; promising another hot day as the group got up. They packed up their gear, and covered over the ashes of last night's fire. Then they continued their ride along the wide dusty road.

Everyone became more irritable as they rode through the hottest part of the day. Anthea had been forced to conciliate more than a few arguments, and had borne the brunt end of one or two of Jelik's more nasty comments. Now the road began to turn directly east.

The forest had long since receded from the road, which now had tall dense bush running alongside it.

Karlos rode at the back of the group. He felt like he was being watched. He concluded that it was no more than his paranoia until he heard grunting sounds to his left. He stopped to listen. Probably a boar or something, he thought. He spurred his horse forward to catch up with the group who hadn't even noticed he'd stopped.

"Anthea." Karlos called. Anthea stopped and turned around.

"Do you hear anything. I mean in the bushes there?" he asked timidly, pointing at the dense bush to their left.

The rest of the group stopped. All eyes were on her as she listened attentively. They knew that if anyone could hear something, it would be an Elf.

"No, I can't," Anthea frowned, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Karlos stammered, "Don't worry."

The party started to move on.

Suddenly several armed figures sprang out of the leaves and branches. The whistling sound of arrows filled the air, mingling with snorted commands.

Anthron ducked under an arrow just in time to see Jelik's horse being killed. The young thief rolled away from his dead mount before he saw their ambushers. There were eight stooping creatures with brownish green coloured skin. Below their snouts protruded lower canines resembling boar tusks. Their reddish eyes were visible under rusty bronze helmets which covered most of their bristly black hair. They wore rusted scale armour and tattered yellow cloaks. They were orcs!

Anthron unsheathed his long sword and spurred his horse towards their foes, eager to take them on.

Kielmark drew his sabre as he urged his mount to rear.

Anthea closed her eyes as she made several symbols in the air, silently invoking the God of Fire to assist her. She remembered the first time she'd communicated with _Pharson_. She compared requesting a God's attention with Kortusian martial artists. The experienced martial artist concentrated before breaking boards or bricks with their hands, summoning their inner strength and releasing their energy with a kiai – a focus. Each God has a different focus. _Pharson_ requires symbolic gestures whereas the moons require amulets before an Elementalist is able to borrow any power.

Slowly opening her eyes, she cupped one hand. Her palm sparked as a fire grew, until it slithered and wound its way around her whole arm like a flaming snake. Anthea pitched her arm back and threw the flame at the nearest orc, striking it dead.

Karlos dismounted, unfastened his morning star from his belt, and planted his feet firmly.

Jelik held his shortsword in one hand, a dagger in the other as he backed away from his arrow-riddled horse and the orcs.

Sudenora began murmuring under his breath as he raised his silver dagger in the air. Sparks began crackling around the dagger as Sudenora flung it into the ground. The blade sunk to the hilt in the soft dry dirt, setting off two sparks, snaking like fuse wire towards two orcs. They were struck dead on impact.

This all happened in a matter of seconds. Five still lived, Anthron observed. They dropped their bows looking at each other uncertainly, before there was a grunt from the biggest orc. Immediately they drew their wicked swords and ran towards the group calling battle cries.

The first to fight was Anthron. He rode past Karlos and kicked an orc in the face as he swung his sword in an arc over his head. The sharp blade bit deep into the orc's head, splitting it almost in half. The orc's body slumped to the dirt road in a series of grotesque twitches which seemed to unnerve Anthron's horse. Anthron felt the colour drain from his face at the sight of what he had done. He looked at the blood on his sword, caught a glimpse of Jelik's approval, then Anthron quickly sought to help his companions.

An orc ran at Karlos, its curved blade raised. Karlos swung his morning star in a figure-eight, keeping it at bay while Jelik ran behind it. The young thief slashed the orc across its back before running on to help Anthea. That was all Karlos needed. As the orc turned back, its face was rent asunder by a flying morning star.

Kielmark parried a thrust aimed at his horse's side, and counter-attacked with a head strike. His flashing sabre slashed the orc across its forehead just as it attacked again. The orc spun to the ground in a spray of its own blood as Kielmark felt the impact of the orc's blade connecting with his calf-plate. Kielmark resisted the urge to cry out just as Anthron ran the wounded orc through.

Anthea had her shortsword drawn and was trying to get behind the Orc Leader for a quick kill. Unfortunately the large orc noticed her, bared its yellow fanged teeth, and charged.

This orc was bigger than most - almost a foot taller than Anthea – wielding a battleaxe and a curved sword. The Leader had a golden ring through its nose, which added to its repulsiveness. It spoke in its guttural native tongue; "Nort...harish...carj!"

Without hesitation the orc sliced its battle axe towards Anthea's throat. She just managed to parry it, but the blow knocked her back. The orc continued to attack furiously, and Anthea was forced to roll backwards trying to escape the continuous attacks. She sprang to her feet and parried the sword, and ducked awkwardly under the axe. Anthea stumbled, then was kicked hard by the orc. She hit the ground heavily. As the orc lifted its axe to take advantage of the half Elf, its back stiffened and its eyes began to glass over. Blood trickled from its nose as Jelik's shortsword burst from the Leader's chest in a red spray. Jelik pushed the orc off his blade with his foot.

"Are you okay?" Jelik looked concerned.

She smiled and rubbed her bruised ribs. "I'll live. Nothing a hot bath and a massage won't fix." She took Jelik's outstretched arm and got up. "Thank you Jelik."

Jelik nodded as he leaned over the body of the dead Orc Leader. He retrieved its small golden ring, slipped it into his belt pouch, then began searching inquisitively for something to clean his blade.

Anthron chased the last orc up the road on horseback. When Anthron returned, the fight was over.

Karlos cleared his throat and walked over to Kielmark as he removed his calf plate. "I'll look at your leg." The cut was only small, but it was very swollen. Karlos rubbed his hands together then placed them lightly on the wound. Kielmark twitched in pain as the tubby man massaged around the wound while murmuring a prayer to _Termolen_. When he finished his prayer, Kielmark could feel the pain ease noticeably.

"How do you actually do that?" Kielmark asked.

"Well," Karlos beamed, "I'm accelerating the natural healing processes which…"

"That's lovely," Jelik interupted, "But maybe you can tell us a little later, no? There's still the matter of my dead horse."

Kielmark was frowning as he climbed into his saddle. "Was a good horse."

"You can ride with me." Anthea offered as she discarded an arrow from her saddlebag and mounted.

Jelik nodded and climbed behind Anthea. "I guess this'll have to do then."

Anthron's eyes narrowed angrily at Jelik. The blonde warrior blinked several times and rubbed his eyes – he swore for a moment he could see a faint purple colour around the thief. Shrugging, Anthron led the way on his chestnut horse. "We'd best be moving, there may be more orcs where these came from."

Sudenora pointed back at the smoking form of the orc Anthea had cremated. "I'm sure that'll attract some attention as well. Should we hide the bodies?"

"I wouldn't worry," Anthea shook her head. "You know, I think these orcs were actually waiting for us."

"What are you talking about?" Anthron queried. "Can you understand them?"

"I know a little goblin – orcish is quite similar. The Leader said 'Nort, harish, carj.' Nort means dark or doomed. Harish is those picked, and carj is the word for soldier." Anthea replied.

Jelik toyed with a dagger from behind Anthea. "So you're saying that these orcs are part of the Selection in some way? That they were sent to find us or kill us or something?"

"They might have wandered here by themselves, but I'm not so sure." Anthea shrugged.

Karlos spurred his horse on. "How far to Lotheric?"

"From here…we'll make Lotheric about nightfall. We can stay there, find out what we can before moving onto Sambethe."

"Sounds like a good idea," Sudenora nodded.


	2. Chapter 2 and 3

**CHAPTER TWO**

The sun set.

The party dismounted and entered Lotheric through a narrow iron gate leading into the small town as the last light of the day dispersed, replaced by _Tolorel's_ pale glow. Lotheric was a small farming village that was built on either side of The Splitting River, creating what was known as Western Lotheric and Eastern Lotheric. Vegetable gardens were located north of the little town, and to the south grazed several cattle.

Anthron noticed it strange that even though the sun had just gone down, the streets of Lotheric were already deserted. Here and there the blonde warrior caught a glimpse of light seeping through a curtain.

"Times must have been hard," Anthea commented. "Last time I was here there was a lot more activity."

"Possibly lost a few people to the orcs." Sudenora suggested.

"Possibly." Anthea muttered.

There was only one stable in Lotheric, which Anthron found unusual for a farming town. The stable was attached to a small inn, which was a modest two-storey building with a chimney puffing out smoke. The sign over the door depicted a sleeping lion in a cave mouth, naming it _The Lions' Den_.

They fed and watered the horses themselves - as there was no stable lackey to greet them - then pushed open the door to the inn.

The inn was simple but cosy. The smell of roast pork wafted from the kitchen. It had a dozen large round tables and a fireplace recessed into the northern wall that made the flickering shadows dance wildly as they entered. There was a healthy slab of pork roasting over the fire. On the east wall a flight of stairs led to the second storey, over what was obviously the kitchen. Only two of the tables were taken, so Anthron motioned for the rest to follow. As they made their way to a table, the customers stared. Once they were seated, a plump middle-aged man emerged from the kitchen and noticed them immediately. He had greying brown hair and an honest looking face. He rubbed his greasy fingers on his apron as he approached. "Good evening," he said with a smile. "I'm Osile, the keeper of this inn. You'll have to excuse the locals – we don't get many new faces here any more."

"Not to worry," Anthron said. "We're after some rooms…" Anthron turned to Anthea for an indication about numbers.

"Three rooms," Anthea replied. "How much for a meal, three rooms, a hot bath, and breakfast tomorrow?"

"Let me see," Osile counted to himself on his fingers. "That'll be sixteen coppers," he replied.

"I'll give you one silver," Anthea said flatly.

The plump innkeeper looked shocked, but recovered quickly. "No disrespect, Lady, but a silver wouldn't cover my costs…"

Anthea interjected; "You look like you could do with our business. Take it or leave it."

Osile struggled for a moment before accepting. "Alright. If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I'll get your meals."

Anthea gave him a silver coin, then he returned to the kitchen. As he neared the kitchen a man in his forties wearing a brown woollen tunic called out, "Osile, how about three ales for a copper."

Osile put his hands on his hips stubbornly. "You know the prices, Carlo."

His drinking friends supported Carlo's comment. A man in a green tunic added, "Take it or leave it!" This created a spate of drunken laughter. Osile looked around helplessly before retreating into the kitchen.

"A quiet town." Karlos noted.

"Agreed," Anthea said casually. "I can't put my finger on it, but something's wrong."

"Like?" Kielmark inquired.

Anthea just shrugged.

"I feel like a drink," Jelik mused as he rubbed his chin. "I wonder how much the ale actually is here." He stood and walked across the room, disappearing into the kitchen. He returned moments later with a triumphant look on his face, carrying a flagon of ale and four mugs.

Jelik sat, uncorked the flagon and sniffed. "This must be a Bayton brew."

Karlos grinned. "Pass me a mug my friend."

"The innkeeper said our meals won't be long." Jelik filled the four mugs, and began drinking. Karlos, Anthea and Sudenora each grabbed a mug.

Several minutes later, Osile appeared with their meals from the kitchen. "Here you are, I hope you enjoy – roast pork, potatoes and gravy," He noted the ale with surprise. "Good night." He shot a suspicious glare at the group, then attended another table.

"You did pay for that, didn't you Jelik?" Anthron whispered harshly.

Jelik looked concerned. "Of course. You don't think I'd steal do you?"

"Jelik, I don't want you to get us into any trouble, okay?" Anthron warned.

"Not a problem."

They began to eat. Sudenora found the meal delicious, and he cleaned his plate thoroughly. So did the others.

As Kielmark leaned backwards in his chair and patted his stomach, the kitchen door opened again. A plump red-faced woman emerged wearing a grey woollen dress, a dirty apron, and a large smile. She approached the table unsteadily.

"I'm Hernsa." she giggled, and Jelik noticed the scent of whisky on her breath. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your rooms." She took them slowly up the set of stairs, and pointed to three doors at the end of the corridor. "The room at the end has the bath…" Hernsa paused to hiccup, "As soon as the water boils." She then curtsied and went down the stairs to clean their plates, swaying dangerously at the bottom.

Jelik and Anthea entered the room at the end of the corridor.

Anthron felt his stomach knot with envy as he swung open the door to the left room. Sudenora followed Anthron, and closed the door.

Anthron unbuckled his chain mail vest and sword, and was considering a bath too. "I may just see when the water's arriving."

Sudenora sighed as he flopped down on his uncomfortably solid bed. "Forget about it Anthron, just get some sleep."

Anthron climbed into his bed and lay there for a while, thinking. He heard the water being brought up, and later heard two people getting into the bath. He clenched his fists and put his pillow over his head, eventually falling into a dreamless sleep.

Anthron woke late, and met the others in the quiet taproom. He sat silently, and was served cold pork and a mug of water that had a yellow tint to it.

"Care for any coffee with your breaking of fast?" asked Osile.

Anthron shook his head, and began eating.

Anthea looked at Anthron. "We were just saying that the Sambethian Village is about seven days ride away."

Anthron nodded.

Sudenora absently scratched at his beard. "I wonder just how much that guy Wilse at the village in Sambethe knows about the Selection?" he mused.

"If he did escape Selection," Kielmark replied. "He probably won't know much more than us. Another thought too – if we know he's in Sambethe, how many others will know as well?"

Karlos squinted at the cobwebs on the low beamed ceiling. "Good point. That also raises the question – how many knew we were in Ithren?"

Jelik stood to leave. "The guy's probably a fake – who would be stupid enough to walk around the Sambethian Forest telling everyone he meets that he's escaped Selection. I'm going to get my gear."

Everyone except Anthea followed the young thief. She stared at Anthron. "What's troubling you?"

He looked at her and sighed. "I didn't sleep well, that's all." He went back to playing with his food.

"If it's lack of sleep bothering you, take some lavender to bed with you tonight. If it's something else…let me know when you're ready to talk. Now, we're looking at leaving in ten minutes." With that Anthea got up and went to her room.

Anthron's stomach knotted, and he knew he'd never finish his breakfast. He pushed his plate away and downed the contents of his mug. Wincing at the after-taste, he made as if to go upstairs. Suddenly the door to the taproom burst open revealing a middle-aged red headed woman dressed in a blue tunic and hose. Her red faced exposed her terror.

"The river, quickly!" she shouted hysterically.

"Muriel?" Osile called from the kitchen. "I'll be there in a minute."

Anthron stared at her curiously. The woman locked eyes with him. "Young Scotus!" she screamed. "I've found 'im! 'E's dead, and 'e looks so terribly 'orrid!"

Anthron looked at the sky. It was the first overcast day in what seemed like months. Winter was closer. Ominous grey clouds rolled quickly across the sky. Anthron pulled his green woollen cloak tightly around him as Osile and the shaky Muriel led them down to the Splitting River.

"Did she say what was so bad about the body?" Karlos asked the blonde warrior, nodding towards Muriel anxiously.

"No." Anthron replied solemnly.

"Osile." Anthea called. The portly innkeeper chattered while waiting for the half Elf.

"Yes?" Osile asked as the two of the walked together.

"Who was Scotus?" Anthea asked.

Osile stammered slightly. "He was Jaress's boy, went missing at the beginning of last winter."

"Have many others gone missing?" Anthea inquired.

The innkeeper glared at her. "Look around you, Lady," Osile gestured to the people that had gathered in the streets. "Our children have gone!"

Anthea continued, unfazed. "Could the orcs be connected with the disappearances?"

Osile frowned. "I've never seen an orc in all my life, Lady. It would be easier to blame them though…"

"But you don't think so." Anthea continued.

Osile shook his head.

Anthea studied the people of Lotheric. No children ran or played. No laughter filled the streets. There was no distant sound of a baby crying. It looked like Lotheric had been decimated by the Selection. Perhaps Scotus had been another prisoner who had attempted to escape?

A sudden gust of wind whipped a purple coloured hat off a distraught man. He made a futile attempt to grab it, then chased it down the street. The howling wind took the hat up, and soon it was just a purple speck in the bleak sky. Jelik chuckled.

The tall thief had been keeping an eye out for any sign of a shop – but hadn't seen any. What kind of place was this? The party had only been walking for five minutes, and in that time it seemed to Jelik that everyone in the small town had come out to watch them as if they were some kind of procession. They stood in silence, clinging to what remained of their families. Jelik wondered if rumours had spread that hope had come to their town at last.

Kielmark shivered, wearing a dull gray woollen cloak that he decided wasn't warm enough. He winced at the sky, silently praying that it didn't rain.

They stopped at the river in front of a spiked iron fence that ran along the bank, ten metres upstream from the wooden bridge that crossed the Splitting River. Mist rose from the swift current as it sped south; its murky waters barely visible through the foam. The bridge looked derelict, parts of it rotten or missing altogether.

"The river isn't usually this swift, is it?" Anthea asked.

"It has been like this for a while now," Osile said. "We think that this is how our children died." He waved to the iron fence. "Obviously this didn't work."

Kielmark placed his hand gently on Muriel's shoulder. "Where is the body, madam?"

"He," she hesitated. "It is caught on a beam there under the bridge," Muriel indicated to a point near the bottom of the bridge. "I saw it when I was paying my respects to Brenot." She pointed out a bunch of dried gerbera tied to the iron fence. The flowers had not done well in the wind.

Anthron stepped up to the flowers and peered through the fence. "I can't see anything." he commented. The blonde warrior requested Kielmark's help, who stepped forward and knelt down. Anthron stepped on his back as he grasped the fence in both hands, then vaulted over, clearing the spikes.

A roll of thunder echoed across the sky as Anthron landed on the muddy bank with a squelch. "I still can't see anything." he squinted.

Muriel clung to the fence, her knuckles white. "It's down there," she insisted.

Anthron looked doubtfully at the muddy bank, then to the angry waters of the Splitting River.

"Maybe I should look instead." Jelik muttered quietly.

Anthron tentatively stepped away from the iron fence, peering as far as he could under the bridge.

"Stay there Anthron," Karlos warned. "We'll get some rope for you."

Anthron nodded. He began to wonder if he should have volunteered so quickly. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, his feet came out from under him. He grasped futilely at the fence as he began sliding slowly towards the fierce river.

"Quickly!" Anthea shouted, urging Karlos to throw the rope he carried to Anthron.

Anthron clawed at the bank but still he slid, the rope landing in front of him as he plunged deep into the freezing brown waters.

The rope nearly wrenched out of Karlos's grip until Kielmark rushed to help. "He's managed to grab onto it!" Karlos puffed.

Jelik sprinted down to the bridge, tying a thin cord around his waist. He slowed as he came to the old bridge, carefully venturing a quarter of the way across. Squinting through the mist, Jelik stabbed a dagger deep into a support beam and searched for a suitable piece of wood.

Anthron surfaced, scratching at the bank, pulling fistfuls of mud while holding tightly onto the rope. Anthron knew that with his armour, he could not stay above the surface for long. He submerged again, his lungs filling with water. Things seemed to slow down while he was under the water, but it was deafening. He saw something ahead – a large pole! He could see the bridge supports. Losing grip of the rope he was swept up in the current of the river, smashing painfully into the pole. He surfaced once more, coughing water, winded, and his vision went black for a moment. As it returned he saw it.

He saw Scotus. Or at least what could have once been Scotus. Trapped between a beam and a pole were the remains of a grossly disfigured body. His eyes had rolled right back into his skull, and his skin was gray. Most of his hair had rotted out and he had no teeth. His tongue was swollen and purple, and his jaw was severely broken.

Then the stench got to him.

Anthron gagged and turned away, looking for a way to escape the putrefaction.

"He's under you!" Anthea screamed to Jelik.

Jelik barely heard her. Swearing loudly, he tied the other end of the cord to a piece of broken bridge railing. He then threw the railing over the side of the bridge downstream. Jelik had two concerns. The first was that Anthron might not see or be able to grab the wood. The second was that Jelik might very well get pulled in with him. The young thief braced himself, tightly holding to the dagger he'd planted, and waited.

Anthron looked frantically around for an escape when something about Scotus caught his eye. His grey eyelids seemed to flicker, and he heard something come from his mouth. Granted strength by sheer panic, Anthron kicked out and hauled himself out of the water onto the beam which instantly began giving way. Anthron's foot collided with the body, and a jolt of pain ran up his leg. Ignoring it, Anthron's only thought was escape. That's when he saw a piece of wood about ten feet downstream. At least that would help him stay afloat. He jumped as the beam snapped. The icy waters swallowed him once more, but he felt the wood hit his palms. He held onto it, tucking it under his arms, and waited to surface again.

For some reason, Anthron was jerked backwards and up. The water's surface rushed up, kissing him with air, granting him an opportunity to breathe again.

"Climb!"

Anthron didn't know whose voice it was, but he was in no position to climb anything.

"Now!"

Anthron looked back and saw Jelik struggling from the bridge behind him. That's when he noticed that he wasn't being carried off downstream. He grasped the cord, feeling it cut into his hands, but he didn't let go. He climbed.

Jelik's arms hurt. His stomach ached. He felt like he was being squeezed in two from Anthron's weight on the cord around his waist. The young thief held on to the embedded dagger with his right hand, his left trying to ease the pressure around his waist. He could hear Anthron panting now, muttering something over and over. Just a little longer, Jelik thought. Anthron's hand appeared over the side of the bridge, and Jelik lunged to grab it.

"Give me your hand!" Jelik yelled over the noise of the river to the wild-eyed Anthron. The drenched warrior threw up his other hand without hesitation, and soon Jelik had pulled him safely onto the bridge.

"It wasn't dead!" Anthron cried.

Thunder boomed overhead once more, followed by rain. He suddenly felt the searing pain in his leg again, and he noticed the blood on his raw hands intermingling with the rain.

Then everything went black.

**CHAPTER THREE**

He heard the rain.

It sounded like a waterfall crashing down on smooth rocks, a constant, continual din. He must be indoors, because he wasn't getting wet. He tried to open his eyes, but gave up. He was so comfortable, not feeling anything, just lying there in the darkness with the noise of the rain like a waterfall. He remembered something…something had happened. Something else to do with water…maybe a river…yes…a fast flowing river.

He could hear distant voices, and he knew he should open his eyes and sit up, and say something like, "Don't worry about me, I'm fine." Fine? What had made him think that?

Water.

The voices seemed more insistent now; they were reaching out to him, trying to pull him back into consciousness. He resisted them.

River.

I'll stay just a little longer, then I'll open my eyes and get up, he thought.

Body.

Anthron remembered the body, the stench, the broken jaw, the teeth, and the flickering eyes! It wasn't dead!

Anthron sat bolt upright, startling his companions, blurting out his last recollection.

"It wasn't dead!"

Anthea pressed lightly on his chest, and slowly he lay back down.

A sharp pain ran up Anthron's leg, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. Probably Karlos's doing.

"I'm all right." he whispered, noticing his dry throat. He sat up more slowly this time, and looked around. They were in a tiny cottage living room. Anthron was propped up on a squat ugly red couch that was badly fading. He was facing a small fire that kept the place warm, with two doors to his left which he suspected led to different bedrooms. The front door was behind him. Above the front door was a framed cross-stitch that read: 'Denkle and Muriel Genar – Together Forever'. There was a small desk in the corner of the room covered with papers, next to a rickety wooden chair. His companions were standing around him.

Suddenly the front door was opened, and they were all assaulted by the raging weather. Sparks flew from the fire in all directions, and papers from the small desk cartwheeled around the room.

Osile quickly closed the door, leaning hard against it. Somehow the small fire kept going.

"Ur...sorry." He looked around the room, then spotted Anthron, bleary eyed and pale. "Ah, so you're up now I see." Osile vigorously rubbed his hands together to warm them, then shook his drenched coat in a futile attempt to dry it.

"He only woke a few moments ago." Anthea said. "Any luck?" She asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Osile shook his head as he hung up his coat. "No my lady. The body has disappeared. I don't understand it, Muriel said that the body was definitely there." He looked back to Anthron. "Did you get a look at it lad?"

Jelik interjected. "I'd say so. But tell us, Anthron. What makes you think that a body which has travelled all the way from The Twelve Peaks is still alive?" Jelik's usual sarcasm had returned.

"What made you say that?" Anthea snapped.

"Say what?" Jelik looked surprised, wondering if she was defending Anthron.

"You said 'a body which has travelled all the way from The Twelve Peaks'. What made you say that?"

"Well…" Jelik paused a moment in thought. "Because The Splitting River comes from the mountains. Maybe Scotus was attempting to climb the seventh peak and fell into the river," Jelik glanced at Anthron. "_Died_…and said one last farewell to his home town as he floated past."

"Scotus disappeared last year…like you five did a little over six months ago." Anthea paused, then gazed into the blank and confused faces of her audience. "Think about it! Perhaps the people who are taken for Selection are being taken to The Twelve Peaks."

Anthea stopped for a moment and watched a glimmer of understanding dawn in their faces.

Sudenora stepped forward with a puzzled expression on his face. "I was taken from Eugernok. Anthron and Harson were from Vemmlok."

"I was abducted with Jelik from Smazorok," Karlos added.

"And I came from Arrolok," Kielmark concluded.

"We are all from Izonda. We travelled south around Mosorac in those wagon cages and came out with more prisoners." Sudenora took a moment to remember. "We headed south still, and stopped outside Decton, departing later with prisoners. We escaped about halfway to Carson and went directly north, into the forest. That's where we met Anthea." He looked at her, his confused face softening, and he smiled. "The rest we all know."

"Jelik and I thought we might be proceeding as far as Urgar Keep. That's where they take most prisoners if they don't execute them first," Karlos argued. "There are no roads to The Twelve Peaks, but if we were going there, they could have saved a long trip by going cross-country alongside the northern part of The Splitting River."

"But what's the use in going straight to the mountains with half a dozen prisoners," Anthea reasoned. "When they could cover whole countryside first, getting twenty times that number."

The party slowly nodded in agreement.

"Why can't we lie in ambush for another cage-train?" Jelik smiled wickedly.

Anthea shook her head. "We'd already thought of that back at the village. The problem is we don't know the difference between the police and the 'Selectors'. And the prisoners all look the same. If we attack the wrong group, we'll have Trendrik's men burning forests and draining lakes in retaliation."

"Fair enough," Jelik replied.

Osile had his mouth open, with water still dripping from the tip of his nose. Could these six people possibly find a clue which would answer the question: where have the youth of Lotheric gone?

"The town will pay you to go to The Twelve Peaks and find out if our children are there." Osile blurted.

Jelik's eyes brightened immediately. "How much are we talking about?" he asked.

"We can't take these poor people's money." Karlos started.

"I'm sure we could pay - let's say - thirty coppers if you go there, and another thirty if you find them."

"Make that thirty silver pieces and you've got yourself a deal." Jelik bargained.

"Jelik!" Karlos exclaimed. "I'm sorry about him sir, but we don't want…"

"Twenty pieces of silver." Osile pressed, ignoring Karlos. He wasn't sure if he could get the money from the Council, but he figured that he'd work it out later. Denkle would be the hardest one to convince. But first, they had to accept.

"Deal!" Jelik let out a triumphant laugh.

Osile sighed in relief as he looked at the group in front of him. Anthron had seen the body of poor young Scotus - one of the first to disappear - and it had spooked him. Anthron was pale looking, and had said nothing throughout the whole conversation. He was quietly thinking to himself.

Kielmark looked annoyed, as if his usually straightforward world had just become a lot more complex.

Anthea thought for a long while, and soon all eyes were on her. She sighed, knowing she had got herself into this. She looked at Jelik and nodded. This was officially part of their original mission – to find out what they could about The Selection. Wilse and The Sambethe Forest could wait a few days longer.

"Okay Osile," Anthea agreed, "We'll go to The Twelve Peaks. We'll see where things lead from there. We will need supplies. We'll head off tomorrow morning. Is that all right with everyone?" she asked.

The rest agreed.

Osile cleared his throat. "Could you look out for a little girl? She's a very pretty," the innkeeper stopped to think, "Nine years old. Yes, she'd be nine. She has brown hair and a bracelet with her name around her ankle. 'Harna'. Could you..?"

Anthea felt tears welling up in her eyes. "We'll do our best." she replied, patting Osile's shoulder.

Lotheric Hall was in the northwestern part of the town. It had a high ceiling of polished wood that matched the floor, the walls decorated with images of The Great War of 628. The six Council members sat in a semi circle around Osile.

"What's your problem?" Osile fumed. "Don't you want to see if our children are still alive?"

The Major of Lotheric, Denkle Genar, squinted as he looked around the other five council members. Denkle was a pale balding man in his late fifties. He brushed his thin wisps of grey hair forward over his shiny scalp. He was tall and thin, dressed in a long red tunic, which matched his dark lips.

"Look fat man," Denkle's nostrils flared, "there's no point in creating false hopes around here. My wife caused a scene with the river – and we put up a fence. By _Bormal_, she did it again today! Now you want to pay vagabonds to go to The Twelve Peaks to look for our children? Have you gone completely mad?"

The other Council members shifted nervously.

Osile couldn't understand why Denkle was against the idea. He hadn't been himself since his son Brenot had died. Perhaps grief was still clouding his mind?

Several hours later, the five Council members out-voted Denkle. Osile was given the money, and the meeting adjourned.

Osile went home to The Lions Den, knocked on Anthea's door, and gave her the money. Then he went to his wife, Hernsa. He had told her that their daughter might be up at The Twelve Peaks. She had been very excited when she'd heard the news, and she had told him that she missed Harna so much. He said he did too. He told her that a group of newcomers were travelling up to the mountains, and she had hugged him and asked if he thought Harna might really be up there. He said he hoped so. They lay in each other's arms all through the night, but Osile slept fitfully. Besides the smell of whisky on his wife's breath, he dreamt of bodies that seemed to have been dead for months, and somehow he saw them rise up and walk. They seemed to be looking for something. They were hacking at rocks with picks, clawing at dirt with their once warm-blooded fingers...

Osile lay awake, casting his mind back to when Hernsa's eyes had last been filled with such hope. Had he done the right thing in telling his wife about the mountains? Osile shifted slightly, one arm completely numb beneath her. He managed to retrieve his arm, and slowly flexed it, the numbness gradually changing into painful pins and needles. He placed his arm on top of his chest, and stared at the ceiling once again. It had all started about fourteen months ago. A young couple named Brenot and Silvra were planning to get married. Denkle and Muriel were proud of their son Brenot, but Silvra's parents weren't quite so happy. They apparently thought Brenot was a bad influence on their daughter. Lotheric was an old fashioned town, and the couple was caught committing immoral sins in the eastern fields by Silvra's father. He had told Brenot that he wasn't to ever see Silvra again, and sent him home. No one knows what Silvra's father did to her. He dragged her home crying, with bruises and ripped clothes. A week later Brenot and Silvra ran away. Three weeks after they'd run away, Silvra stumbled back into town, near death from claw marks in her back and a bite on her wrist. Osile remembered thinking that she was very pale. Silvra fell into a fever, and deliriously described a fight she had witnessed between her love and a hooded figure. She retold how clouds surrounded them and it grew dark. She described Brenot at first greeting the figure, then threatening it. He swung his sword at it but the figure caught his sword arm and twisted Brenot's arm until bones popped out. Brenot fell and lay still.

Silvra then described how she'd felt a burning pain across her back. She turned to see a dead body standing before her. She took a step back, screamed, then passed out. She woke not far from Lotheric, and had managed to make it back into town.

After several days Silvra felt suddenly better. She wouldn't let anyone see her wounds, insisting that she was fine. When her father questioned her about what had happened, she accused him of being responsible for Brenot's death. She then broke her father's neck in the busy streets. An elderly Healer of _Termolen_ accused her of being possessed, so she killed him too. She had then growled as a mist surrounded her. A silver wolf leapt from the cloud, and it bounded away. Three days later, Silvra's body was found in the eastern fields. She had died by impaling herself on a broken tree stump. People said that it took three men to pull her off that tree stump. Mysteriously, there was no trace of blood.

Since Silvra's death, one or two children went missing from Lotheric every month. Scotus was the first to go. At first it was teenagers, but very soon the younger ones were disappearing as well. Six months ago, Osile's own daughter was taken from her bed. He missed her. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he let them roll freely down his face. Something had to be done, and Harna had to be found – or avenged.

Osile wiped his eyes, and slowly drifted off into a troubled sleep. Hernsa didn't stir once.

24

Sarophia: By Stu Dunn 


	3. Chapter 4, 5 and 6

**CHAPTER FOUR**

It was overcast.

The party rose early, the wind biting at them mercilessly as they moved through the sleepy town.

"What a wonderfully brisk day," Jelik noted sardonically as he gathered his grey cloak closer to his shoulders.

"Tell me again - why aren't we taking our horses?" Karlos complained as they came to the old bridge.

"How were you planning on getting them across that bridge?" Jelik shouted above the sound of the rushing water. He was in a particularly foul mood this morning.

Anthea started across the bridge.

Karlos continued grumbling. "We could've gone around the town."

"The rocky terrain doesn't suit horses," Kielmark replied.

"Oh." Karlos held on to the loose railing of the bridge for support as he crossed.

"Watch out," Anthea shouted as she completed crossing the bridge. "It's rotten here. Try the other side."

Jelik glared at the half-Elf. "I can see that, thank you."

Anthea shot back a fiery look as she rubbed her temples.

"You okay?" Karlos asked as he arrived safely across the bridge.

Anthea just nodded but continued to massage her head.

The party crossed the damaged bridge safely.

Eastern Lotheric was completely deserted. The houses lining the roads had broken windows, missing roof tiles, and a permeating stench. Rubbish circled the alleyways in a turbulent windy frenzy as a chime clattered from an old weathered porch.

"Nice," Sudenora noted sarcastically as he covered his nose and mouth with a cloth.

Jelik breathed deeply. "This place reminds me of home."

Anthea turned up her nose superciliously. "Let's just get out of here as fast as we can."

Soon they'd passed through eastern Lotheric and reached the grasslands – but more poignantly – they'd come to a place where the air was fresh.

They followed a track north, alongside the Splitting River and fields.

Sudenora quaffed the air in happy gulps and studied the clouds. "The weather should improve over the next few hours." He smiled as if that would lighten everyone's mood.

Anthron squinted at the Twelve Peaks that lay in the distance before them. They were colossal. Riddled with red volcanic dust, the twelve taller mountains stood out significantly further than the rest of the mountain landscape. Anthron imagined they resembled bloody fingers clawing at the clouds.

The hike in the wind was onerous. About noon they stopped and rested.

Sudenora took off his pack and searched its contents, taking out some cold pork.

Jelik rolled his eyes.

"You can go without then." Anthea snapped.

Sudenora then dug into his pack and retrieved a large wineskin. "Osile gave us some wine," he grinned. "Just in case it got too cold." With that he shared the pork, and drank from his wineskin. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, then passed the wineskin to Jelik.

"Only a little each, we still have a job to do," Anthea said as Jelik handed her the skin. "Only a mouthful." she smiled as she took a few gulps. She passed it around.

"Just remember, what she says goes." Jelik grated.

Anthea passed the wine on. "Look, what's with you today?" she pointedly asked Jelik.

Jelik shrugged and looked away.

"This tastes awful." Anthron grimaced as he passed on the wineskin. Kielmark raised his hand while shaking his head. "Arrolokians aren't allowed to drink."

Jelik scoffed. "How come I've never heard that? If you don't want any you don't have to lie…"

"Leave him alone, Jelik," Anthea flashed, rubbing her temples slowly.

"Thanks," Kielmark said uncomfortably. "I don't want any."

"No problem." Jelik replied.

They packed their belongings and set off again along the trail towards the red mountains.

As Sudenora had predicted, the wind dissipated as the sky gave way to snatches of sunshine after a few hours.

The mountains loomed above them - the twelve peaks now lost from view beyond the scattered cloud. After several hours of tramping they climbed up the last incline that led to the massive mountain valley, and stood rapt in awe. Inside the red valley rested The Twelve Peaks. The dusty trail they had been following wound off into the distance, disappearing between the red mountains. The sound of the Splitting River could be heard flowing somewhere below them.

"An impressive sight, no?" Jelik commented.

"I wonder what the view would be like from up there," Anthron asked rhetorically.

"You'd probably get a bird's eye view of the clouds," Jelik replied.

"There," Anthea pointed up at one of the peaks, "That looks like another track."

They picked their way carefully over the loose rocks into the red valley, their feet scuffing at the volcanic dust.

"I hope this stuff comes out," Sudenora said as he patted himself. "It looks like it stains cloth."

"You know that having a track can't be good," Jelik kicked at a rock absent-mindedly. "A track means life."

"Not necessarily." Anthea replied as she began to follow Karlos.

"Oh, so rocks make tracks in and out themselves do they?" Jelik taunted.

Anthea sighed irritably. "Spare me."

"Would you two leave it?" Karlos huffed.

"Sure thing." Jelik said, then muttered something under his breath.

"What did you say?" Anthea shrieked as she spun to face the thief.

Jelik shrugged. "Nothing important."

Anthea's eyes went steely as she drew several symbols in the air. Seconds later she was holding an angry ball of fire.

"Stop this!" Kielmark shouted, standing between the two adversaries. Anthron almost smiled.

"Couldn't agree more, Kiel." Jelik looked alarmed.

Anthea dispersed her fireball with a wave and began up the track, nursing her stomach.

"Are you okay Anthea?" Karlos asked. Anthea didn't reply, continuing to climb.

After a tense climb they came to a flat surface about twenty feet wide and fifteen feet long. There were human bones scattered about. At the far end was the cave that Anthea had spotted. Giant footprints were visible in the red dust, but none of them were anywhere near the cave entrance itself.

The view was quite impressive, Anthron thought, being able to see the town of Lotheric to the south in the late afternoon sun. "Here we are." he said as the rest of the group climbed on to the dusty flat platform.

The party peered into the dark passage as Kielmark rummaged through his pack, finding two torches.

Anthron asked, "Think we need a scout?"

"I'll go," Anthea proposed. "I don't need a torch." Anthea's eyes narrowed as she stepped past Jelik, disappearing into the cave.

Anthron shifted uneasily. "What's up with you two?" he asked Jelik.

Jelik stared at the blonde warrior, making him edgy. "We're not suited to spending all this time together. We can't get space while traveling."

Anthron nodded. "So, what's going to happen…"

Jelik waved his hand signifying the end of the conversation.

They waited in silence a few minutes before Sudenora spoke. "We've given her enough time I'd say."

"I'll get a light." Anthron offered. He pulled out a worn flint, and began rubbing his dagger over it. Within moments the two torches were sparking and hissing with black smoke.

"I'll go next," Jelik stated. He took one of the torches, spun round and entered the cave, holding the light aloft as the others followed.

The passageway was about ten feet wide; the edges made up of loose sharp rocks that made it difficult to get in close. The ceiling was about seven feet high, dotted with hundreds of small red stalactites, but the floor seemed out of place. It was shiny and smoothly worn down the middle, looking like something had been dragged over it for several hundred years to create the effect.

"I really hate being underground," Karlos said nervously.

"Don't worry about it Karlos," Sudenora replied. "If you don't make too much noise the roof should hold. Loud noises sometimes…" his voice trailed off.

Karlos then made a concerted effort to walk quietly.

After about twenty minutes the passage started sloping down, as well as leaning left. Kielmark spoke quietly. "It seems we are descending in a spiral around the inside of the peak."

"I wonder if any of the other peaks are like this." Sudenora commented.

After walking on in silence for a while, Jelik motioned for the others to stop. "I can hear something." Tilting his head he listened intently. There it was again – the echo of metal hitting rock. "Anyone hear that?"

"Sounds like someone mining." Anthron observed, unsheathing his sword.

"Damn," Jelik swore. "Why didn't Anthea wait for us?" He flicked his wrist to retrieve a dagger from up his sleeve, then turned and jogged quietly down the passage.

The others continued on at a slower pace.

Jelik increased his speed again as the metal-on-rock sound got louder. After a brief jog he stopped abruptly. Anthea suddenly appeared in front of him. Her eyes glowing dimly red, indicated she was using her Elven night vision.

Anthea squinted at the torchlight. "We've got trouble."

Jelik cracked his neck to one side. "What kind of trouble? What's that sound?"

"Let's walk and talk," Anthea turned to head back down the passage. "Please put the torch out," she said sharply. "The sound you can hear is pick axes."

"So there's just miners down here?" Jelik scoffed as he relaxed.

"Yes," Anthea stopped and stared at the thief. "Dead ones."

"Ahh," he exhaled. He dropped his torch, stifling the flame with his foot. "Is there anything else there?"

"Not that I could see." she wavered.

"What?" Jelik snapped.

"Well, I thought I sensed another presence."

"Do you know what the dead were actually mining?"

Anthea stopped walking, Jelik blindly crashing into her. "Jelik, they're dead. They didn't chat about the weather."

The thief's eyes narrowed.

She sighed in frustration as she traced symbols through the air, then gently touched the thief's arm. Suddenly Jelik could see clearly in the dark corridor, thanks to Anthea's enchantment.

Jelik nodded his thanks. _How far_? For the first time he 'spoke' to her in the silent hand signal language of thieves.

Anthea replied in the same fashion. _No far. Ten by three walks_. She winced. It had been some time since she'd used sign language.

Jelik frowned. _Thirty paces_?

Anthea nodded. Jelik placed a dagger in the middle of the passage floor next to the torch then they continued on. The thief answered Anthea's raised eyebrow. _They'll probably blunder their way down. Leaving those will at least make them wary – perhaps even quieter_.

They moved on.

_Just now_, Anthea's hands flashed.

_You mean we're nearly there_? Jelik queried, screwing his nose up as the stench hit him.

Anthea nodded while covering her nose and mouth. The passage gradually became easier to navigate as torchlight flickered up ahead, strange sparks flaring off the walls themselves. The sound of metal hitting rock was now easily identifiable as someone wielding a pick.

_We should wait for the others_, Jelik suggested.

_Why? Not bold?_ Anthea replied, smiling wickedly.

_Fine_. Jelik's hands made the sign sharply. In sign language, that was the closest one could get to shouting.

The torchlight was garish to Jelik's enhanced vision, so when his eyes began to stream Anthea removed her enhancement as she reverted back to her own normal vision.

The torch was mounted on the left side of the passage at a T-junction. The corridor they had been following kept going down, becoming steeper, with another branching to their right. This new passage was the same size as the other, well lit with torches.

Anthea pointed at the new passage. _There goes diggers, no that goes down._

Jelik shook his head in dismay. _You need practice. So you haven't gone down there then?_

_No._

Anthea let out a short yelp of fright and Jelik whipped out two daggers as a deep voice spoke from behind them.

"There's no need to be secretive," The voice came from a large pale man dressed in a baggy brown robe. "I've known you were here for some time now."

Out of sheer habit of living on the streets of Smazorok, knowing the philosophy of he who hesitates dies, Jelik threw his daggers at the man who startled him. The thief's reactions were lightning fast, both daggers striking the man's chest.

"Forgive me," the man responded as he withdrew Jelik's blades matter-of-factly from his chest. The daggers were bloodless. "I have not introduced myself. I am called Gwyerson Dernas, third to The Master himself," he smiled, revealing a row of serrated teeth. He looked to Jelik. "You were chosen originally as food. It looks like now you have another purpose - you should be honoured."

"What?" Jelik stuttered as he withdrew two more daggers.

Anthea unsheathed her sword and began advancing on Gwyerson. He responded with a raised eyebrow. "_Shoth met likas toloth._" he spoke softly.

Anthea's eyes went icy as Gwyerson spoke, and she clutched at her stomach. Gwyerson pointed to Jelik, and Anthea turned with her sword poised, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she struck the bewildered thief.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The man pushed the door wide.

He was instantly affronted by the stench of stale beer and vomit – a putrefying disjunction from the fresh night air. _The Hive_ was an extremely busy tavern and he jostled his way through the rowdy drunken throng.

He made his way to the stairs and disappeared into the shadows of the booth he wanted. An attractive woman wearing a white satin dress sat opposite. "Sasha Quevnon. Or should I call you Quabeth White? It's been a while."

She smiled at him. "Smit-Myer Crysin, you can call me what you like. In fact it's been two months and twenty one days since we last met," Sasha shrugged nonchalantly. "But who's counting?"

Smit-Myer waved his arms around the tavern disapprovingly. "A particularly loathsome choice of venue, I must say."

She sighed. "Why do you want to see me?"

"I'm looking for more people, five others that have escaped. These ones have been missing for almost seven months. I need the help of your contacts around the Izonda border."

Sasha leaned back and screwed up her nose as she toyed with a fingernail. "Why do you still work for _them_."

"That's my business. Will you help me? There's a full purse in it for you – the usual fee."

Sasha shrugged. "I'll do it for you, not them. Just give me the money and descriptions."

Crysin reached into his tunic and passed a pouch of money to Sasha. She took it with relish, and counted its contents.

"This'll do." she nodded.

"The first one is a large man with blonde hair and blue eyes named Anthron Mikolnic. His father is a blacksmith, his mother a seamstress. They live in Vemmlok."

He paused before continuing.

"The next one is Sudenora Kiltorn. He has brown hair and eyes. His father was a street performer illusionist in Eugernok, his mother runs _The Jug_ - a bar in Eugernok.

"Now, here's one you'll surely know. Brekon House."

"They took one of the Brekon children?" Sasha asked, stupefied.

"They'll take anyone, they don't care. Anyway, Karlos Brekon. He was a disappointment to Dathor because he was too portly to make a decent warrior. That's why his father ignored him. He's got mousy hair, and hazel eyes.

"Kielmark of Arrolok, a horseman. His father is completely blind, his mother's dead. Large muscles, squat with dark skin, and a mean spirit. You know the usual Arrolokian. Black hair and brown eyes."

"I've never really spoken to an Arrolokian. Are they really that rude?" Sasha asked.

"Not really, their faults have been terribly exaggerated. It's just their way of life.

"Now, the last one here is a little out of the ordinary. Jelik Qualis is his name. I checked him out, and his family was hit by the Ruby Brotherhood some time ago. He lived on the streets of Smazorok for eight years before he and the Brekon kid hit it off."

Smit-Myer paused, allowing Sasha time to commit the facts to her retentive memory. "He earned his reputation for being the most adept man with a dagger on the streets of Smazorok." Crysin looked at the ruby ring on his right hand, the symbol of the Ruby Brotherhood. Sasha leaned forward and placed her hand on his just before they were interupted by a short plump woman with a red face. "Excuse me," she held a jug of ale in one hand, a cask of wine in the other. "Would either of you be wantin' somethin'?"

Crysin shook his head, knowing that his favourite green drink wouldn't be served in a place like this. He looked at Sasha. "Quabeth my dear, would you care for something?"

She waved the barmaid away.

Crysin caught her eye. "Before you go." he produced a silver coin and flicked it into her jug of ale. She blushed slightly as she looked awkwardly at Sasha.

Smit-Myer raised his hand in front of him and slowly shook his head. "Make sure you get some sleep tonight." With that, he waved her away. The barmaid smiled and left hurriedly, just in case this generous stranger quickly changed his mind.

Crysin saw Sasha looking at him inquisitively. He explained. "Every time I've been here, she's disappeared off upstairs with someone. It's really sad that anyone has to make a living like that." Crysin looked agitated about the whole thing.

Sasha smiled as she studied her old friend. He was thirty-eight years old, The lines around his tired grey-blue eyes made him look older. His tanned face was long, thin, and slightly leathery from travel, with his white teeth protruding whenever he smiled. He had long straight black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a neat Scyermor styled moustache and beard.

"Anything wrong, my Quabeth?" Crysin asked.

"No, of course not. I was merely considering a strategy to track your targets." Sasha returned.

"They aren't my targets," Crysin snapped. "Remember that."

"I'm sorry," she nodded her head respectfully.

"Of course," he replied.

"I'll get Sonat working along the Izonda border with a few men," Sasha began. "Leaving word about, that sort of thing. I think Korsorn can cover Mosorac and Decton. We can probably forget about Lotheric."

"You know my feelings about being thorough. Make sure Korsorn checks out Lotheric as well. I don't want to have to call in my people just yet; they've got better things to do. How about Drans? The last job he did was very thorough, he found three people hiding in the Bayton sewers. Get Drans to check out Carson and the surrounding plains."

"Actually, I was going to suggest Lorol for Car…"

"Lorol's a thug – and not suited for this sort of work," Crysin interupted. "Drans will do nicely."

Sasha unconsciously gnawed her fingernails. "Have you checked east?"

"Yes," he nodded. "We found a little village hidden in the Sambethe forest, very sequestered I must say. We sent Wilse to investigate with a story that he'd escaped Selection. The first thing he discovered was that there's another village in the Ithren forest somewhere. I'll have to send my own people to check that out." Crysin slouched back in his chair. "The Elves would take out anyone but the best."

"So your game may well have been hiding in the forest for the last seven months and you didn't think to check it?" Sasha laughed derisively, "That's not like you."

Crysin's eyes glazed angrily. "I was instructed to search east." he replied coldly.

"Ah. I should have realised."

Crysin rose from his chair, stretched, then leaned over and kissed Sasha's hand and bowed. Sasha noted that he never took his eyes off her the whole time. Charming he may be, but he was always cautious.

"As always, my Quabeth, it's been a pleasure. Let's agree to meet again in three days. This time, however, I'd like to change the venue. How does _The Merchant's Dream_ sound to you?"

"That's fine. Three days then, same time." She stood as he left and watched him merge into the crowd.

"Why do you put up with that?" a rasping voice said from behind the booth.

Sasha slowly turned away from the crowd to seat herself once again in her booth. A thin man emerged from behind her, his head shaking distastefully. "Thug?" he muttered.

"What's this, Lorol? Jealousy? Really, you ought to know me better than that. Business is business."

Lorol sat across from Sasha. He looked wiry, with a dark Kortusian complexion. He had slanted eyes and short black hair, with a scar running down the left side of his face, curving around up under his throat.

"Jealous, maybe. Do you have to do business so…" Lorol croaked as he gesticulated for Sasha to complete his sentence.

"Tell me, who has put the most business my way over the last little while?" Sasha asked. "Crysin has, and that will continue."

She clicked her fingers as the barmaid walked past. "Would ye be wantin' anythin'?"

"Yes, I would. A brandy - in a large glass." Sasha replied.

"It won't be long." the barmaid replied, then she headed off into the throng again.

"I'm not so sure Crysin will manage that, my Quabeth." he continued.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I might just hunt him down tonight, Quabeth, so that I may insult his severed head on those cold wintry afternoons when it rains and I've got nothing better to do."

"No." Sasha replied harshly.

Lorol stood up, placing his right fist over his heart. "You don't think I can do it?" His rasping voice had a hard time reaching its desired pitch of obnoxiousness, but Lorol's expression said it all.

"I don't doubt you."

"I'll show you, Quabeth. I'll show you that my skill is far superior to his," Lorol then turned to leave.

Sasha caught his arm. "Look, this isn't something to die for…"

Lorol pulled his arm away and barged through the drunken patrons.

"Now what can I do?" Sasha sighed, flopping back into her seat. She brooded until the barmaid returned with her large glass of brandy, and threw her a few coppers.

"How much for the rest of the bottle, missy?" Sasha asked. She picked up the large glass and downed it in five huge gulps. She winced slightly, wiped her mouth and continued. "Because my glass seems to be empty, and I have a feeling I'm going to get very thirsty."

The plump barmaid gathered up her coins and nodded. "This will be fine." And she made her way back to the bar via the path Lorol had just cleared.

Crysin slipped through the back streets of Mosorac inconspicuously. He headed for the other side of town where five of his men were waiting for him in a derelict warehouse. What Sasha didn't know couldn't hurt her.

Crysin sighed, and watched his breath become a wispy cloud. His breath turned in on itself before diffusing into the cold night air.

From the next intersection Crysin could hear voices. He slipped into a doorway and hid in the shadows - listening intently. He could now hear the footfalls on the cobbled street close by, Crysin's best guesstimate was there were about four people approaching. As the people got closer, he could hear the sound of leather creaking; the sound of sheathed weapons slapping against their legs.

Their talking became louder and more intelligible as they came into view.

"I still don't think we'll find someone stupid enough to think we're the guards, Rali," a man with a handlebar moustache said glumly.

Rali, a man with short curly red hair, laughed. "It's always worth a try, Broan. If they suspect anything, the four of us can just wipe them out and loot them."

Low laughter crackled among them.

Crysin remained hidden until they were out of earshot.

Then he re-emerged from the doorway, completely invisible. He smiled to himself, grateful for the magical properties of his multi-faceted cloak. He went through the intersection, and changed course from east to south. After a few minutes, the magic wore off, so he walked in the shadows once again. He crept stealthily through another intersection, changing his course back eastwards. Suddenly he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end – he was being watched! He moved further into the shadows, closed his eyes, mentally re-grouping. Yes... A watcher was on a rooftop on the other side of the street. He opened his eyes again and scanned the rooftops. Nothing. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. Crysin listened for a moment. He couldn't hear anything untoward. He continued along the cobbled road, loosening his sheathed wakizashi.

Suddenly he heard a whirling sound, the sound of something very sharp coming his way. He dove forward, got to his feet, leapt on to his hands, and did several handsprings before stopping to look around. In the wall right where he had been were three large shuriken, razor sharp metal disks, embedded deeply in the stone wall. He scanned the rooftops again. He could make out a figure on a small house opposite where he now stood. The figure somersaulted off the roof, landing on the cobbled road with barely a whisper.

Crysin had his curved wakizashi out of its sheath before his adversary's feet touched the road. His opponent drew two similarly curved blades, and advanced on him slowly.

Crysin was usually imperturbable, but this was an exception. His adversary was about twenty feet away now, covered from head to toe in black cloth. Crysin recognised his Kortusian features. This would be one hell of a fight he thought.

"I've grown tried of your games, Crysin." the Kortusian growled. His voice rasped like rusty metal being sanded.

"Ah, Lorol the Blade." replied Crysin, recognising his distinctive voice.

"This will be your last play, so try to play well. Quabeth White sees you as a threat. She is also weary of you. She wants you out of the game." Lorol then lunged at Crysin, and so the fight began.

Crysin feinted and missed his first attack and parried his second. There was a series of clashes of sword against sword, then both stepped back and re-grouped.

"Better than you thought?" Crysin taunted.

"You shall die painfully," Lorol spat.

"Oh, get on with it. Do you have any idea how many times I have heard that?"

With that Lorol charged.

Lorol's first strike was aimed at his throat; his second went for his right knee. Crysin blocked both attacks in one movement much more deftly than Lorol thought possible. Lorol then had to bring both weapons back as Crysin sent his wakizashi darting straight for his exposed chest. Lorol caught the blade with both of his, deflected it downwards, trapping it in the X of his blades. He then pushed one of his curved swords aside and attacked with his other, aiming for Crysin's neck. Adrenalin surged as he noticed Crysin couldn't get his sword free from his other blade in time. His sword was almost home when Crysin raised his arm up into the sword's path. There was a dull thud, sending Crysin backwards.

Lorol couldn't believe his eyes. He could see little iron rods sewn into Crysin's sleeves.

"Terribly sorry, Lorol, but I'm going to have to hurry things just a little. I have some important business - business that I'd rather you didn't overhear."

Lorol was surprised that Crysin knew where he'd been earlier that night.

Crysin spun his wakizashi several times. "Are you ready for another round?"

Lorol clenched his fists around the handle of his curved blades, and felt a slight pain in his left arm. He looked down at a small nick across his forearm. He cursed as he raised his swords once again in battle posture.

Lorol came in again, his twin swords lost in a blur of speed. He attacked from every conceivable angle, always frustrated and parried by the flashing wakizashi. He started to attack higher and higher, trying to lift Crysin's guard. Lorol attacked his neck and shoulders now, but still the wakizashi kept both swords at bay. Crysin saw what Lorol was up to and played along, allowing his guard to rise. Then Lorol pulled both his swords back at once, and lunged forward, attempting a double stab to his chest. His ruse would have caught most warriors off-guard, however Crysin was ready. He raised his wakizashi up, and brought it around in an arc as he stepped out of harm's way. Both blades strayed harmlessly wide. Crysin sidestepped and spun on his heels until he was standing alongside his attempted assassin. He then locked his left arm around both of Lorol's, and with Lorol's arms trapped, smashed the hilt of his wakizashi into his face.

Lorol's vision became befuddled for a few seconds - until he regained his composure. He was standing about fifteen feet from Crysin, weaponless. Crysin was so cocky that he'd put his own weapon away. Lorol reached down into his boot, and pulled out a long thin dagger. Crysin didn't look in the least perplexed.

Crysin unbuckled his sword belt, and placed it on top of Lorol's twin blades. He flicked his wrist, revealing a dagger. He undid his cloak, and placed it over the weapons.

"It doesn't need to come to this, you know," Crysin mentioned straightforwardly.

"I'll rest when you're dead," Lorol hissed.

The two assassins started towards each other.

Crysin lashed out - Lorol swayed back, then retaliated with a high swing, and a sidekick. His kick caught Crysin completely unawares, connecting painfully with his ribs. Seizing the advantage, Lorol kicked Crysin's dagger from his hand, and made a slash for his throat.

Crysin rolled backwards, coming to his feet as Lorol advanced with a series of slashes that were thwarted by Crysin's iron rods. Lorol made a horizontal slash - Crysin ducked under it and spun around putting his leg out. Crysin's heel caught the back of Lorol's feet, tripping Lorol on the cobblestones.

Crysin was quick, and he was upon Lorol in a flash. Lorol's dagger was sent scuttling noisily across the cobblestone road, as Lorol got back to his feet.

Both unarmed, they prepared to fight again, both unaware that their fight now had an unwanted observer.

Lorol's fist darted toward Crysin's head, but Crysin was quicker. His right hand deflected Lorol's punch, quickly followed by Crysin's left hand grabbing hold of the arm. Crysin pulled his arm as he shot out his elbow, smashing Lorol's nose. Lorol reeled back as he swung his fists wildly, catching Crysin's mouth.

They both stepped back again, catching their breath. Crysin darted out with a combination jab front kick, followed by a spinning kick. Lorol didn't see the latter.

Lorol stumbled back, blood flowing from his nose, fumbling in his belt pouch as Crysin kicked the side of his head. Lorol spun right round before dropping to the ground motionless.

Crysin wiped the blood from his mouth as he retrieved his items. He buckled on his sword belt and clasped his cloak over his shoulders. He decided to leave Lorol's blades. "Sorry, my friend," Crysin began approaching the now stirring Lorol. "Dead enemies are safe enemies. I find that live ones are more likely to come back and haunt you."

Lorol was now propped up on one arm, his hand searching through his belt pouch again.

"Oh no you don't," Crysin said as he began running towards Lorol. With a triumphant look on his face, Lorol pulled a shiny round object from his pouch and held it up. "I shall see you again," he croaked. With that, he threw the object to the ground. Upon impact an explosion of thick smoke erupted into the overcast night.

Crysin was hesitant to enter the smoke - instead he circled around. Once the smoke had settled somewhat, Crysin scanned the area.

"Damn!" he cursed.

Lorol was nowhere in sight.

A dark figure slunk away from the fight into the receptive feeding ground of shadows. He was particularly ravenous this evening, but thought it in the worst possible taste to drain one of his employees.

**CHAPTER SIX**

Karlos covered his face.

"What in _Termolen's_ name is that smell?" exclaimed the Healer, wrapping his scarf tighter around his nose and mouth.

"Smells like your boots," Sudenora muttered. "I can also hear flies."

Kielmark peered further down the corridor. "Where are the others?"

"What's that?" Anthron pointed, then picked up Jelik's extinguished torch.

Kielmark scooped up the dagger. "One of Jelik's."

"How do you know?" Anthron inquired.

Kielmark turned the pommel of the dagger around to show Anthron. "You see here, this is his symbol. He marks all his daggers this way."

Anthron frowned. "What does this mean then? Are they in trouble?"

"I think he wants us to be cautious." Karlos replied.

The four continued down the corridor.

"Torchlight ahead," Kielmark hissed. "The walls themselves seem to be sparking."

"And," Anthron whispered, "That sound has stopped."

"I've got one of those feelings." Sudenora muttered.

"Just be ready." Anthron responded as Kielmark doused his torch.

"That smell's getting worse," Karlos whimpered. "Smells like something rotten."

They arrived at the well-lit T-junction.

"There's blood here," Anthron whispered. "And it's fresh."

"Which way then?" Kielmark asked.

"Well…" Anthron stopped as Karlos yelled. Whirling around, he watched the Healer slump to the ground, his forehead bleeding. Standing over Karlos was Gwyerson Dernas.

Kielmark attacked instantly. Gwyerson caught the sabre effortlessly, wrenched it from Kielmark's grip, tossing it behind him up the passage.

Sudenora began mumbling words to _Servas_ – but before he could finish Gwyerson bashed him off his feet. Sudenora stayed down.

"No more Elementalists." Gwyerson laughed.

Anthron glanced at Kielmark who was looking petrified.

"Who are you?" Anthron demanded boldly, holding his silver-hilted long sword in front of him.

Gwyerson smiled warmly, Anthron seeing his blood stained teeth. He gestured at Sudenora and Karlos. "I do apologise, this isn't the easiest way to begin a relationship."

"What do you want? Where are the others?" Anthron demanded.

"First of all," Gwyerson stated with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Get rid of your toy."

Anthron's sword flew from his hand, ending up the passage near Kielmark's sabre.

"That's better," Gwyerson smiled. "Now we can be gentlemen." He pretended to muse over it for a moment. "Now that I have Xycermon," he motioned to a bat shaped dagger tucked in his belt. "Your existence is superficial. I don't care myself, however the Master doesn't want any mistakes." Gwyerson tipped his head in farewell, then vanished into a green mist as Anthron and Kielmark heard shuffling footsteps coming from the torch-lit corridor.

"Anthron?" Kielmark's voice was shaking as he looked up the passage. "Dead men walking."

The smell hit Kielmark and Anthron almost simultaneously and Kielmark was sick. The putrefying flesh of the approaching bodies was grey and maggot infested. Out of the five that approached only two were whole. Two were missing an arm each while the last was headless. They moved jerkily with each squelching footfall with hundreds of flies buzzing around them.

The image of Scotus flashed in front of Anthron's eyes. It wasn't dead.

Kielmark retched again.

"Anthron." A weak voice came from behind the blonde warrior. He turned around, dagger in hand, to see Jelik limping way up the passage covered in blood.

"Where's Anthea?" Anthron snarled.

"That doesn't matter any more." Jelik replied coldly.

Kielmark dashed up the passage, retrieving their weapons. "Anthron, I'm going to need help."

"Fire," Jelik breathed. "Use fire."

Anthron's eyes darted about. "Jelik's right, Kiel. Use torches – the bodies will burn easily." The blonde warrior detached one of the mounted torches, while Kielmark grabbed another.

The first walking dead was mercilessly mutilated. Anthron swung his flaming weapon with all his strength at its head as Kielmark held it at bay by holding his torch at its torso. The head came off with a sickening crunch, maggots squirming about madly as they began to burn.

Anthron had just enough time to wipe bile from his chin as another closed. "Three to go," he panted as another dropped to the passage floor burning.

"Anthron," Jelik pointed to the defenceless Karlos and Sudenora with a torch he'd plucked from the wall. "We need to keep them safe."

The blonde warrior nodded in response as he ducked under a slow attack. Thrusting forwards, Anthron discarded his torch that had punctured through the rotten chest and kicked the burning body over.

Kielmark was showered in flaming sparks as he blocked; then Jelik's flashing sword was there. Jelik severed the head and he kicked out the legs, leaving Kielmark to eradicate the fetid corpse.

The remaining animated carcass fell, caught alight from its spent drudgers.

"We have to get out of here!" Jelik wrapped his cloak around his face to protect him from the fumes and fetor.

Anthron noted the red dust on the walls flaring irregularly. "I don't know what that means," he pointed. "But I agree. Jelik – get Sudenora. We'll grab Karlos."

Kielmark and Anthron hoisted Karlos as Jelik threw Sudenora over his shoulder, and they began to run back up the smoky passage.

Anthron felt like his lungs had given out as they burst into the fresh night several minutes later. Gasping for air with a painful stitch wasn't a pleasurable experience. As he rolled in the red dust he vowed to get fitter.

It wouldn't be the last time he'd think that.

Jelik stood straight with his hands on his head, wincing while trying to catch his breath. "Are we whole?" he gasped.

Kielmark wiped perspiration from his face. "That was…"

The dark man was cut off by an underground explosion which shook Jelik from his feet. From the cave entrance they were assaulted by a wave of putrescence followed by a thick cloud of red dust. Anthron covered Karlos and Sudenora as several small rocks bounced off his back and forearms. There was one more shudder, then all was still.

"What was that!" Jelik coughed, peering through the thick dust.

"This dust could be flammable." Kielmark spat, rubbing his eyes.

Jelik opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as Karlos regained consciousness.

"By _Termolen_! My head!" Karlos groaned loudly before coughing.

Anthron examined Sudenora. "You might want _Termolen's_ help before too long," he hacked. "He looks bad."

Karlos squinted. "He'll live. I'll collect myself and be with you shortly."

Ten minutes later the dust had settled and Sudenora was awake nursing a headache.

"So," Karlos began. "What happened?"

Anthron shook his head. "I'm not sure. All we know is there's something powerful down there which wiped the floor with us - and Anthea's gone." The blonde warrior glared at Jelik. "Where is she?" he said threateningly.

Jelik's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't take that tone," he snapped. "She's one of them. She turned on me," Jelik revealed two slashes across his arm and back. "That robed guy back there recognised her and she attacked me."

"Well," Sudenora urged. "Go on?"

Jelik stared at his feet. "She'd hit me twice before I could react, I obviously wasn't expecting an attack from her," he hesitated before continuing. "I threw the daggers in my hand in her direction as I fell, then some kind of force hit me. I came too further down the passage when Anthron and Kiel began fighting."

Anthron's eyes were slowly reddening. "She wasn't around when we got there. So you don't know where she is?"

"Damn it Anthron!" Jelik exploded. "I have no idea!" Jelik's voice echoed through the mountains.

"What a mess." Karlos sighed.

Anthron studied Jelik, particularly his outline. For the second time, Anthron could see a purple hue lightly pulsing around him. He watched as it dissipated with the thief's anger.

"Anthron." Sudenora hissed urgently. All turned to where he was looking. A swirling green mist spiralled from the sky, slowly circling the party.

"What is it?" Anthron asked, drawing his sword.

The green smoke hovered above them for several moments before descending like a feather. As it touched the red ground it began to grow, slowly solidifying and taking the shape of a man – Gwyerson Dernas.

Jelik leapt in, daggers slashing, finding his attacks useless, as Gwyerson was intangible.

"Top effort," Gwyerson taunted as the group backed away. "I didn't think you'd survive the blast." He held out his hand as a misty sword appeared. "I'll have to finish you myself."

Kielmark was watching the man's feet, waiting for an indication that he had become tangible. Slowly the dark man noted the footprints in the red dusk sinking. That was what the Arrolokian was waiting for. "Now!" He leapt forwards, sabre leading. Gwyerson swung his sword in deflection, grasped Kielmark's arm with his spare hand then swung his attack harmlessly wide.

Kielmark's eyes widened in horror as he realised the sheer strength of this thing. It couldn't be human. The vice-like grip on his arm hurt so much he had to drop his sabre.

Karlos swung his morning star over his head, smashing the spiked ball heavily onto Gwyerson's head as Jelik stabbed two daggers into his back.

Gwyerson snarled, twisting Kielmark's arm, then flung the screaming man away. Spinning on Karlos, Gwyerson's sword glowed an angry green as it cut towards the Healer. Throwing himself backward Karlos tugged on his embedded weapon, narrowly missing the hissing sword. His morning star came free as he tumbled backwards, winding himself. Karlos just had time to cover his head as Gwyerson's sword bit deep into the Healer's left arm. The cut itself hurt badly, but it was the burning from the blade that made Karlos black out.

Sudenora released his second batch of sparks before the first lot had struck. He hoped the sparks didn't ignite the volatile red dust, but threw caution into the wind as Karlos went down. Gwyerson's eyes – now glowing red – rested upon Sudenora as the sparks flared and bit at his feet. Gwyerson waved his hand and produced a globe of darkness on Sudenora's head, completely blinding him. Sudenora dropped defensively to his stomach and crawled away from the fight, the dark globe following.

Anthron and Jelik looked at each other, then to Gwyerson. The wound in his head where Karlos had hit him had gone, and Jelik's daggers in his back didn't seem to bother him.

They were in trouble.

Jelik circled around so Gwyerson was in between him and Anthron, daggers in hand, muscles taunt. Anthron glanced to his silver hilted sword, wondering if it was going to be any use. It had to be.

Gwyerson advanced on the blonde warrior casually, not afraid in the least. That annoyed Anthron. Anthron grasped his sword in two hands and begun a fighting routine his teacher Lepus had taught him, swinging with all his strength high, using his own momentum to instantly strike low, and so on. Anthron's attacks were easily defeated, and as Jelik came in poised to attack, Gwyerson Dernas vanished.

"Where is he?" Anthron panted, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes.

Jelik turned, surveying their surroundings. Then, standing above the wounded Kielmark, Gwyerson reappeared.

"I must be out of practice," Gwyerson glanced at his nails. "I would normally have you all by now." He smiled wickedly and sheathed his sword. "I will end this now for you."

Anthron's heart pounded as he realised there was nothing he could do. Gwyerson summoned a fireball in one hand, and picked Kielmark up by his injured arm. The Arrolokian screamed out, his other hand tight in a fist. "I may as well burn you all together." Gwyerson said as he threw Kielmark at Anthron.

Just as Kielmark flew from Gwyerson's grip, the black man swung his good arm as if to punch out. Instead Kielmark released a handful of red dust upon Gwyerson. Kielmark landed painfully, rolled, then blacked out.

Gwyerson's eyes widened as his fireball flared. He reached out to extinguish it just as it exploded, blasting his right hand to pieces.

Anthron and Jelik dived for cover but there were no more explosions. Gwyerson had stifled the blast so that it didn't contact any more dust.

Gwyerson let out an unholy howl of pain. Anthron and Jelik lost no time in taking advantage of that. Anthron raced forwards sword held straight out, and skewered the man through the chest. Gwyerson reached into his tunic as his stumped arm smashed into Anthron's ribs. The blonde warrior fell back gasping, just as Jelik jumped from behind. The thief sunk two more daggers into the back of Gwyerson's head. Gwyerson retrieved the bat shaped dagger from his belt, then he attacked. Jelik ducked the attack and kicked out, knocking the dagger harmlessly away. Gwyerson - now unarmed - snarled and launched himself at Jelik.

Jelik didn't expect such a straightforward attack, and they both fell.

Anthron winced as he stood straight, one hand on his side, the other shakily holding his sword. He would not give up.

Gwyerson was over Jelik, pinning him to the ground while the thief furiously thrashed and kicked. Anthron held his sword in both hands and struck Gwyerson with all his strength across his lower back. Gwyerson looked back at Anthron, his chin covered in fresh blood, and threw Jelik aside. Anthron watched in horror as his fatal cut on Gwyerson healed.

"What are you?" Anthron gasped, staggering back.

Gwyerson's red eyes glowed strongly as he advanced. "I'm your death," he grated.

Anthron believed him. The blonde warrior's knees buckled and crashed to the ground, waiting for death. He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. He couldn't even look towards Gwyerson. He could just stare straight up at what stars he could see. The magic Gwyerson had placed on him was for torture he believed.

Gwyerson looked down on Anthron, blocking his view of the stars, two daggers protruding from the back of his head. Anthron then heard something fly past his ear and, being able to move again, turned to Gwyerson.

Gwyerson Dernas was gone, a gaseous figure dispersing in his place; the bat-shaped dagger appearing back in Jelik's waiting hand.

47

Sarophia: By Stu Dunn 


End file.
